


Smile Like You Mean It

by TwiceBorn



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwiceBorn/pseuds/TwiceBorn
Summary: There’s only one thing Qrow wants from her.





	Smile Like You Mean It

 

“Trust me, Mr. Branwen: my sister doesn’t hate you, she just...well, she’s not really the type to wear her emotions on her sleeve.”

Qrow stops stirring the bowl of flour and looks up.

“Yeah, I get it,” he sighs, “Just...we’ve been dating five months, kid, I was kinda hoping I’d get a laugh out of her already or something.” He reaches across the kitchen counter for a box of baking powder. “And stop calling me ‘Mr. Branwen’. Makes me feel old.”

Weiss peers up from her Advanced Game Theory textbook and sets aside her uTab, clinching the white afghan tighter around her shoulders. The old dorm couch she’s sitting on groans as she shifts her weight.

“Then please don’t call me ‘kid’. It makes you look old.” Ignoring Qrow’s grumbling, she continues.

“And I understand. Winter can come off colder than she intends to sometimes.” She pauses, pursing her lips. “Well, a lot of the time—even with me. But trust me: you’re worrying too much about it.”

“Maybe,” mutters Qrow as he measures out a spoonful of white powder. He’s dimly aware that the neon-pink Pumpkin Pete apron looks ridiculous on him, but right now he’s got more important things to do. _Would it kill her to smile for once? Maybe she’s thinking about breaking it off or something, I dunno. Was a good run while it lasted I guess, but still_ —

“Uncle Qrow, no! That’s too much!”

He blinks, then looks down at the bowl. There should have been just a teaspoon of the white powder in the bowl—instead, now there’s a big heap.

“Uh…” Qrow glances helplessly at the bowl, then at his youngest niece whose face is scrunched up in a cringe. “...it’s fine, right?”

“It’s not ‘fine’. Uncle Qrow, if you put this much baking powder in a cake it’ll explode.”

Qrow looks at the proto-cake. “Well, shit.”

Ruby groans. “It’s alright, I’ll take some of it out and it’ll work. I think. But don’t zone out next time! Go get the sugar!” Raising his hands in surrender, Qrow steps back and lets his niece work her magic.

He hadn’t thought baking would be such a pain in the ass. It was all just some flour, milk, and eggs all mixed up and tossed in an oven, right? Things might have been simpler if he could just use some instant cake mix, but when he brought the idea up to Ruby:

“OVER MY DEAD BODY!” the culinary arts major had screeched.

Which is why he’s here on a lazy Saturday morning, clad in his niece’s apron and covered head to toe in enough white powder to make the local cops have a fit. Still, though: if he can pull this off, the whole thing will be worth it. It might even give him what he’s looking for.

Now if only he can put the damn thing together.

“Uncle Qrow? That’s salt.”

“Aw, fuck.”

Outside, it begins to snow.

 

—

 

It’s evening at Winter’s apartment. She looks over legal documents, he listens to slow rock at low volume. He grades homework, she’s got a mug of Vacuan Dark Roast. It’s hard keeping himself awake—the suede couch he’s sitting on is warm and there’s still snowflakes drifting outside. He contemplates stealing some of Winter’s brew.

The sound of paper sliding on paper punctuates the low-key rock beats. Qrow glances over at his girlfriend, watching her blue eyes fly over the pages of some legal brief. It’s thick enough to beat someone up with and half the pages are yellow with highlighter and blue from pen marks.

There’s bags under her eyes. Every time he sees them it’s like a punch to the stomach, and he’s been taking a lot of gutshots lately.

“Hey, Win?”

“Mm?” She doesn’t look up.

“What’s the difference between a SDC lawyer and an onion?”

He takes her silence as a sign to continue.

“You cry when you chop up an onion.”

Winter makes a noise, halfway between a sigh and a snort. Qrow glances at her again—blue eyes melt by a fraction, cherry-red lips twitch upwards ever so slightly. He figures he’s got her attention when her gaze flickers to his before it settles back down on the brief.

Still, though, no smile. No show of teeth.

“I met a guy whose in-house counsel for Father’s company the other day. I wish you were there to tell him that.”

“He there for business?”

She lets out a deep sigh and tilts her head back, closing her eyes. “Nominally. My firm’s got another case against SDC and he said he came down here for settlement negotiations.”

Qrow raises an eyebrow. “But…?”

The pen makes a scratching noise as it returns to the brief. “Guess.”

He groans. “Your dad sent another one?” A nod from Winter elicits another groan. “He knows you’re taken, right?”

“Father doesn’t think couples who met through dating apps count. That’s what he said, anyway.”

Scoffing, Qrow gets up from the couch with a groan. “Yeah, well, in your own words: ‘fuck him’.” That gets him another snort. He moves around behind Winter, sinks his hands into her shoulders, and begins kneading. She stops what she’s doing and freezes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “relax. ‘S just a shoulder massage.” It takes her several seconds to unstiffen and ease into Qrow. When she does and his hands start moving, she lets out a low moan.

“Gods,” she breathes, “mmm. Thank you, Qrow.” Cold shoulders melt like butter in his hands. The brief lies forgotten. “Where on earth did you learn this?”

“Army. They made us take elective courses and shi—stuff like that. Signed up for a first-aid class, met a doc, he taught me a bunch of random stuff. Like this.”

“Hmm.”

They grow quiet and indulge in the moment of peace. Qrow feels Winter settling in his hands and wonders if she’ll fall asleep on him.

“I’ll need this,” she says, her voice low. “Next month’s looking like a right bitch.”

Qrow raises an eyebrow. “Busy?”

“Very. SDC’s refusing to settle so we’re taking it to trial.” A sigh. “I look forward to reading through a million pages of corporate suits jacking each other off over emails.”

He chuckles. “They flying you out?”

“Next week and the week after. I’ll be here in the city for the rest.”

He silently lets out a sigh of relief. Winter turns to face him.

“Why do you ask?” she says, suspicion coloring her voice.

A lie sits ready to fall from his lips, but he thinks better of it. “Well, uh...it’s your birthday in a few weeks, right? Wanted to surprise you with a little party, you know…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me about this? How do you even know my birthday?”

Qrow immediately backs off, hands raised in placation.

“Woah, hey. I told you, it’s a surprise. I got the info off your little sister, I promise.”

Her shoulders droop and sag.

“I see.” She exhales through her nose. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. It’s been a long—”

Qrow wraps his arms gently around her neck and kisses her hair. “Hey, hey. It’s fine. I shoulda cleared it with you anyhow, my fault.”

“No, it’s…it’s not your fault.” Winter gets up, gently picking Qrow’s limbs off her shoulders. “I should get to bed.” He considers asking her to come back, sit down, talk about it.

“...okay,” he says instead. “‘Night, Win.”

“Goodnight, Qrow.” Winter closes the bedroom door behind her with a click.

 

—

 

There’s a steaming pile of crap on Qrow’s countertop. He breathes a sigh of relief—it’s not a _smoking_ pile of crap, at least, and his kitchen is still intact. Mostly.

The test cake’s a lost cause, he judges. It’s too squishy and it’s sagging badly on one end. Still, though, it might still be useful as a way to test his icing technique, so he whips up a batch of the sugary, pasty spread.

Baking is different for him. It’s not like cooking, not exactly, even if it seems similar. No freewheeling, no eyeballing, no tossing ingredients in a bowl ‘to taste’ and letting his instincts do the rest. It’s all precision measurements and carefulness and timing. It pushes him in ways he didn’t expect and he can’t help but like it. It’s _fun_.

He steps back from his latest failed creation. There before him sits the very embodiment of the word ‘pitiful’, a truly sorrowful mound of cream, flour, and sugar so horribly smothered in messy icing, it looks like Mr. Schnee’s worst hair day.

As he leans forward to pick the mess up, his memory stirs, and he thinks back to a little shack in the woods more than twenty years ago. He’s sitting next to a girl his age with eyes as red as his, hunched over a gooey blob with a makeshift candle stuck in it. They sing off-key and giggle when his voice cracks. It’s a moment’s rexpire from the real world, the real world of _that_ _man_ stepping through the door with the stink of booze on his breath and rage in his eyes.

Qrow’s lips curl with a ghost of a smile. Maybe one of these days he’ll give his sister a call. Maybe. He takes out a pastry tube full of blue icing and rolls up his sleeves.

Time to practice his calligraphy.

 

—

 

Qrow’s technically lying when he says he’s never seen Winter laugh or smile.

“...so I said, ‘Hunter? I’ve never even met ‘er!’”

A peal of laughter erupts from Winter’s office. The man’s is sonorous and mellifluous. Hers sounds as perfectly manicured as her nails.

“But really, thank you for your work, Ms. Schnee. I didn’t think I’d get anything when those bastards broke my hip, but thanks to you and your fine fellows…”

“Please, Mr. Port, it’s our pleasure. We’re just glad we were able to get you the compensation you deserve.”

“I certainly did!” There’s a loud smacking noise, like lips giving something a loud kiss. “This one’s taking me on a two-week vacation to Patch!”

“Enjoy your trip, Mr. Port, and try not to break anything this time.”

“Ho ho, and if I do, I know just who to call!”

A chuckling rotund man leaves Winter’s office and passes Qrow in the hall, squeezing past him with a quiet ‘oh excuse me’. Qrow steps past him and enters Winter’s office. If she’d been smiling, it’s left no trace.

“Thought you might be hungry,” says Qrow as he brandishes a tupperware in a plastic bag and wiggles it. Winter brightens as he approaches and pulls out the food.

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you.” She opens the lid and peers inside. “Did you make this?”

Qrow shoots her a grin. “Nothing too fancy, just some chicken, veggies, and rice in some sauce, all stir-fried Mistral-style. Learned it from a guy in—”

“The army?”

“Yep.”

Winter takes a bite. Qrow studies her as she chews, savors the morsel, and swallows.

There it is again. The eyes softening, the eyebrows raising in quiet delight. But still no smile.

“This is excellent,” says Winter as she continues eating. Qrow guesses she’s been forgetting to eat again because she wolfs the meal down. Yet, somehow she doesn’t spill a single grain of rice despite how fast her spoon moves.

“Surprised the lady up front let me in.” Qrow takes a look around the office as he speaks. Minimalistic, yet tasteful, everything precisely to order.

Winter swallows before she answers. “Velvet knows who you are.” She pauses to take another bite, continuing when she notices Qrow’s perplexed look. “I showed her the pictures from our trip to Forever Fall.”

The blood drains out of Qrow’s face.

“Win,” he whines, “please don’t tell me you showed her the—” He stops when he notices Winter staring at her dinner with intense curiosity. “Aww, Win, babe…”

Winter coos, “No one thinks any less of you for it, Qrow. It was just one picture.”

“Dammit…” Qrow lets out a groan as he rubs his face. “Fine, fine. Just don’t talk about the, you know…”

“Too late…‘Mr. Stickler.’”

“ _Son of a_ \--” He pouts and snatches the now-empty tupperware from Winter’s desk. “You told them?!”

Winter smirks. Qrow hesitates for a fraction of a second. So close…

He swallows before he continues. “Anyhow, since the jig is up already...you wanna do anything for your birthday? How ‘bout that Atlesian place on 14th street—”

“I’d rather not.”

Qrow licks his lips, nervously, then sits down in the chair across Winter’s desk. “C’mon, Win. It’s your birthday, we can’t just do nothin’.” He shoots her a grin. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna work all day on your b-day.” The instant the words leave his mouth, he knows he screwed up.

“Working all day sounds like an excellent idea,” bites back Winter. She glares at her computer monitor as her fingers fly furiously over the keyboard. “I’ll be swamped from the case anyway, I might as well—”

“Wait, wait, look. I’m sorry. Me and my stupid mouth. But c’mon.” He leans forward, elbows on the desk. “I’m not asking you to, fuckin’, do a boat-to-boat party with hookers jumping out of cakes or something. Just you and me, maybe we could have your little sister and my niece over.”

Winter looks at him, then tears her eyes away back to her computer monitor. “I...I need to get back to this brief, Qrow.” Her voice strains with reluctance.

“Don’t blow me off, Win. Why can’t you just trust me on this?”

What little color is in Winter’s face disappears.

“Win? ...Winter?”

Something chimes from Winter’s desk. Winter glances down at it. “Qrow, I need you to leave.”

“What? I—”

“ _Now_ , Qrow.”

“But—”

Before he can continue, a head of lavender hair pops into view at Winter’s office door. “Winter! How’s—oh, am I interrupting something?”

Qrow looks back and forth between his girlfriend and the newcomer. His mouth works and does nothing more.

Winter stands and puts on a smile. It’s like a movie star’s—beautiful, brilliant, calculatingly manufactured. “Not at all, Lisa. Please, come in.”

The woman glances at Qrow as she hesitantly enters. “Sorry, I just wanted to drop by for that interview for the Torchwick case. I can come back later, though, if you’re busy—”

“Now is perfect. Qrow, if you don’t mind…?”

Numbly, he nods. “Yeah...sure. Uh, have a safe trip, Winter.” If Winter had a reply, it’s swallowed up by the journalist launching into her questions.

He leaves the office in silence. He says nothing as he boards the subway, opens the door to his apartment, and plops a stack of tests to grade on his desk. After an hour of poking away at it, he throws his pen aside and lets the television carry him to restless sleep.

Winter doesn’t try to get in touch with him for most of the two weeks she’s gone. Neither does he.

 

—

 

One night, Qrow dreams of snow.

“STRQ Four, STRQ Four, this is STRQ Two. Come in STRQ Four, over.”

He’s standing dead still, rifle slung on his shoulders and raised halfway to firing. Pine woods and chill air surround him while fresh snowfall crunches beneath his boots.

Through the mist of his own breath he can see a wolf standing at attention. Thirty or forty paces from him and poised atop the crest of a hill, it keeps its head held high as it watches him watching back with sky-hued eyes. Its fur is stark white, so devoid of color it seems to blend into the snow surrounding it.

“STRQ Four? Respond, STRQ Four, over.”

“He probably fell in a ditch somewhere. Qrow, if you can hear me, get your ass back here. My tits are about to freeze off.”

“Cut the chatter, STRQ Three. STRQ Four, this is STRQ Lead. Is everything ok out there? Over.”

Qrow opens his mouth to reply when the wolf shifts. Pale paws pad over white woodland in absolute silence. His breath catches in his lungs.

It draws near. The wolf is so close he can see the subtle twitches of its ears, hear the sigh of the wind sawing in and out through its nose as it takes in his scent.

They stare at one another for what feels like an eternity. No fear, no anger, no suspicion. Just quiet curiosity.

He reaches out with a gloved hand. Perhaps to pet it, perhaps just to touch it make sure it’s no illusion. He’s not sure, himself. When he moves towards the wolf, it flinches. It steps back and turns, and before he can do or say anything else, it bounds away into the snowy landscape.

Within a few heartbeats it’s gone, as though it were never there. The only thing that remains in the quiet whisper of the wind.

The sound of the radio brings him back into reality.

“...our? STRQ Four! Goddammit Qrow, come in—!”

“This is STRQ Four.” His voice comes out as a croak, dazed, listless. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Tai, I’m alright.” There’s a sigh of relief on the other end.

“Gods, you scared the shit out of us,” says STRQ Two. “Hurry up and get back here. What kept you?”

Qrow scans the terrain one last time, hoping for another glimpse of the wolf.

He sees only endless white.

“...nothing,” he murmurs into the radio. “Nothing at all.”

 

—

 

Weiss stares at Qrow like he’s a fucking idiot. He can’t disagree with her.

“You told her _what_?”

Qrow rubs the back of his neck as he winces. “Yeah…”

The younger Schnee groans as she buries her face in her hands. “My winter exams are coming up, Ruby is having her own meltdown, and Blake and Yang are going through one of their melodramas again. I do _not_ need this right now.” Qrow gives her an apologetic look.

“Get ya another cup of coffee?”

“You’d better. Venti mocha frappe—”

“—with whipped cream, soy milk, and a shot of espress—”

“Two.”

“—two shots of espresso.”

Weiss gives him a pointed look. “And a scone.” Qrow grumbles.

“Fine, Your Highness.” Infuriatingly, that only makes Weiss look more smug. “You want that blueberry or raspberry?”

“Blueberry, please.”

A minute later, Weiss chews on her pastry as Qrow talks.

“...and if it’s private or I’m, I dunno, being nosy, sorry about that, but I just wanna know what I did wrong.”

Weiss frowns as she stirs her frappe. “I’d hoped she’d moved past it after she met you, but I guess I was mistaken.” She takes a thoughtful sip before she speaks. “Winter hasn’t had the best experiences with birthdays, though you probably guessed that by now.”

“Wouldn’t take a genius,” interjects Qrow. Weiss continues, ignoring him.

“It was her...twenty-second birthday, I think, right after she graduated from college and her last one before she joined the Air Force. Father decided to ‘gift’ her with some day-trader idiot from one of SDC’s investor companies. He was an ass.”

He leans back and raises an eyebrow. “I’m surprised she even gave him the time of the day.”

“Father hadn’t shown his worst at that point,” said Weiss, shaking her head. “Their relationship was strained, but I think she was hoping to patch things up again. So she decided to trust Father one last time.” She takes another drink. ”I still remember my first suitor—have you ever heard of a man named ‘Cardin Winchester’?” Qrow scrunches his face.

“Is he that model guy who got caught cheating on his girlfriend or something? Wait.” Realization dawns. “Aw, shit…they were all that bad?”

Weiss smiles bitterly. “‘Almost all of them. There was one blonde boy who was just a harmless idiot, thankfully—he and Ruby are friends now—but the rest…” She pauses as she looks sadly down at her drink, fingers idly playing with the straw. “And Winter’s first was a real piece of work.”

“Dammit,” sighs Qrow. “No wonder she...” He leans back and rubs his face. “Maybe I should call this whole thing off. Just watch WebFlix at home by myself or something.”

Weiss leans in, glowering.

“Mr. Branwen, do _not_ cancel your birthday plans for Winter.”

“What? I don’t wanna make her do something she’s not comfortable with—”

“She wants to move on from this.” Ice-blue eyes meet his in a determined stare. “She’s told me before. We had a little get-together last year, before she met you—that was her first time celebrating her birthday in six years, but it was her idea.” Weiss’s leans in closer.

“Do you know what she did before that? She studied or she worked. All-nighters. Sometimes the day before and the day after, too. Whenever December twenty-second rolled around she buried herself in books or legal briefs or whatever else she could get. And let me tell you as Beacon University’s resident workaholic—that’s not healthy.”

Weiss sits back in her seats and stares at Qrow, taking another sip of her frappe.

“Do you know,” she asks, “how many months it took me to get Winter to try dating again after her last suitor?” Qrow replies with a weak shrug. “Zero.” The university student smiles softly at Qrow’s confusion.

“It took her some time to actually go through with it, of course, and I had to give her a little push now and then, but signing up for that dating app was all her idea.” She gives Qrow a pointed look.

“She also sent me a text the other day asking if you were doing ok. I told her you were fine. So don’t give up on her. Please. She hasn’t given up on you.”

Around them, university students going to night classes and late-staying office workers hurry by. Qrow says nothing and stares at the table, fingers tapping the side of his coffee cup.

After a while, he exhales through his nose. “Alright. Thanks for talking to me, kid. I owe ya one.”

Weiss gives him a bemused look. “I thought I asked you to stop calling me ‘kid’.”

“That was for the ‘Mr. Branwen’,” says Qrow with a laugh. “Take care. And tell Pipsqueak I said ‘hi’.”

He chuckles as he leaves a couple of lien on the table and walks out the door.

 

—

 

Qrow awakes with a start. He takes a moment to find his bearings then glances at the clock: 6:00 AM.

Tossing and turning, he contemplates returning to sleep when his phone buzzes. A flick of his thumb confirms it’s a text. The identity of its sender jolts all thoughts of sleep out of him.

Snowdrop: Are you awake?  
6:01 AM

He blinks, raises an eyebrow, then taps out a response.

Me: yea  
6:02 AM

Me: whats up??  
6:02 AM

Snowdrop: I need to talk to you.  
6:04 AM

He stares at the screen as his heartbeat quickens. Was this it? Was this where the best five months of his life disappears, like smoke in the wind? Qrow sets the phone aside and stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming on his creaking mattress. Another handful of minutes go by in silence. He starts to calm down when he remembers what the younger Schnee had said to him, but his heart still beats like a hammer.

He sits up. His thumb swipes his phone open and presses ‘Call’. There’s a ringing sound followed by a second. Then a third.

“Hello?”

Winter’s response is a croak. Had she been crying? Or maybe she’s just tired. Qrow opens his mouth to speak and finds nothing coming out.

“Hello? Qrow, are you there?”

“...hey, Snowdrop,” he finally manages. Swallowing thickly, he continues. “How’s Atlas?”

“Cold, as usual. We had almost two feet of snow yesterday.”

“Already? Geez. You keeping warm?”

“Of course.”

An awkward silence fills the air. Qrow can hear the sound of traffic on the other end of the line.

“What time is it over there?”

“Eight AM. Is it—I’m sorry, I forgot about the time zone difference. Did I wake you?”

“Nah, nah,” he says as he stifles a yawn. “How’s the case going? Those SDC assholes giving you any—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

His brain catches up to his mouth.

“I—what?”

“About what I said before I left for Atlas. When Lisa Lavender dropped by? I was...being unfair, and…”

Qrow collapses back onto his bed. There’s a loud hiss as lets out a sigh.

“—and I know I can be—Qrow? What was that?”

“Nothing, Win,” he says with a weak chuckle. “Nothing. And...look. I fucked up. Real bad. Weiss told me about what happened about, you know, your birthday and it...” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I got pushy and I shouldn’t have.”

Silence reigns again between them.

“All this about a damn birthday party,” chuckles Winter. “We’re not good at this relationship thing, are we?” Qrow lets out a wheezing laugh.

Winter continues, “When I get back, let’s do something for ourselves at my place. Something small.”

“Should we call over your little sister?”

“No. Just us this time.”

Qrow grins. “Sure. I’ll cook something up.”

“And put on _Penguins On The Ice_ for me, will you?”

“Aww, Win, you’ve seen that like a hundred times already.”

“I’m the birthday girl, remember?”

“Alright, alright,” chuckles Qrow. “Come home safe, Snowdrop.”

“Mm. I’ll see you soon.”

The call ends with a blip. Qrow stares at his phone before he tosses it back onto his bed.

He falls back down onto his bed. His mind reels.

He grins when he realizes he’s finally heard Winter laughing.

—

Snowdrop: My plane leaves at noon, so I should be home by 5.  
9:11 AM

  
Me: sounds good  
9:12 AM

Me: making pasta  
9:12 AM

Me: want me to pick you up?  
9:13 AM

Snowdrop: No need. I’ll just take a taxi.  
9:15 AM

Me: gotcha  
9:16 AM

Me: c u l8r  
9:17 AM

 

—

 

Snowdrop: My plane got delayed. Bad weather blew in from the south.  
12:20 PM

Snowdrop: I should be there by 7 or 8.  
12:21 PM

Me: k  
12:24 PM

Me: fly safe  
12:24 PM

—

 

Snowdrop: Plane got delayed again.  
3:40 PM

Me: dont worry about it  
3:42 PM

  
—

 

Snowdrop: Plane’s finally taking off. Don’t wait for me.  
8:13 PM

Me: i can heat up the pasta when u get back  
8:16 PM

Snowdrop: It’s fine. We can just do this again next time.  
8:17 PM

Snowdrop: I’ll see you in the morning.  
8:17 PM

Me: come home safe  
8:19 PM

—

 

Winter staggers in through the door with luggage in hand. She glances at a clock that reads 4:01 AM.

The lights are still on. She decides to speak to Qrow about it in the morning. With an exhausted sigh she sets her luggage down and begins taking off her coat.

She freezes when she sees Qrow.

He’s sitting at the table, head in his arms and snoring. In the kitchen there’s a pot of pasta sauce and another full of pasta. On the table next to Qrow is a cake.

Winter steps over to where Qrow is sleeping and examines the pastry. It’s slightly drooping on one side and the frosting is haphazard at best. The blue icing on top reads, “Happy Brithday, Winter”, and Winter wonders how Qrow managed to misspell ‘birthday’ but not her name. She leans in and plants a soft kiss in his hair. Qrow stirs then falls back asleep.

Curious, she takes up a nearby fork and takes a morsel of cake. It’s buttercream and vanilla, her favorite. The crumb isn’t as tender as the store-bought kind, the icing is uneven, and it need a touch more sugar. She decides immediately that it’s the best cake she’s ever eaten.

Something under the table bumps into her foot when she steps past: a box, wrapped in a ribbon. She undoes the wrappings and unveils a silver locket, and opens it up with a flick of her thumb.

Inside is a cut-out of a selfie of the two of them from four months ago, just a few weeks after they first started dating. They’re standing on sand in the hot Vacuan ocean sun. He’s in swimming trunks, she’s wearing a white two-piece and aviator shades. He’s grinning his head off, she stares at the camera with levity in her eyes. It’s signed:

‘Always here for you, Snowdrop.’  
-Qrow

She smiles.


End file.
